Bedient strolled a bit in the gardens. Framtree,
if anywhere in the establishment, did not show himself
outside, nor in the buffet, library, billiard-hall,
nor lobby. The extent and grandeur of the house
was astonishing, as well as the extreme efficiency
of the service. A Chinese was within hand-clap
momentarily. There seemed scores of them, fleet,
silent, immaculate, full of understanding. Their
presence did not bore one, as a plethora of white
servants might have done. Bedient reflected that
the Chinese have not auras of the obtruding sort....
In his room finally, he drew a chair up to the window,
and sat down without turning on light.

He had never felt wider awake than now, and midnight
struck. He could not keep his thoughts upon the
different facets of the present adventure, but back
they carried him through the studio-days, one after
another, steadily, relentlessly toward the end.
It was like the beating of the bass in one of those
remorseless Russian symphonies.... The ride—­the
halt upon the highway at high noon—­the kiss
in that glorious light—­her wonderful feminine
spirit ... and then the blank until they were at her
mother’s house. He never could drive his
thoughts into that woodland path. From the first
kiss to the tragedy and the open door, only glimpses
returned, and they had nothing to do with his will
... He felt his heart in an empty rapid activity,
and his scalp prickled. The captive that would
not die was full of insane energy that night....

Once Bedient went to the door, following an inexplicable
impulse. At the far end of the hall, fully seventy
yards away, stood Jim Framtree talking with a woman.
A Chinese servant hurried forward to Bedient, as if
risen from the floor.... Framtree and the woman
separated. Bedient took a gold coin from his
pocket, and thrust it hastily into the hand of the
servant, saying: “Ask that gentleman to
come here for a moment.” The Chinese did
not return, nor did Framtree call that night.

But even this slight development could not hold his
thoughts.... Bedient wondered if the captive
would ever die; and if he should die, would he not
rise again at the memory of that first kiss in the
June sunlight?... And so he sat, until the day.
Then he noted another letter had been slipped under
his door. It was of course from Senor Rey:

May I trouble you, my really delightful
friend (it read), not to bestow any favors larger
than a peso upon my servants? They are
really very well paid, and do not expect it.
Ten dollar gold-pieces for any slight service
are disorganizing and increase the tension.
I beg to be considered,